


Items Belonging To Wedge

by mimorjam



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Clothes Sharing, Embarrassment, Fluff, M/M, Pining, Survivor Guilt, Wedge is so far gone, Wedge knows some profound shit, Wes ships it, or stealing, same tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 13:03:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9124966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mimorjam/pseuds/mimorjam
Summary: The obligatory clothes sharing/stealing fic ~ some could say Luke does it all on purpose.... perhaps he does.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> More characters and tags and little things like that to be added as we go ~ I hope y'all enjoy :)

Someone reasonably wise once told Wedge that three things are more contagious than disease: Hope, ideas and excitement. 

Wandering around the eastern corridor connecting the command chamber and main hangars, Wedge would be inclined to agree. 

Every person he passed was beaming, most chatting intensely with another smiler, some actually running through the halls like children.  
He supposed he should be as animated, if not more so, but for some reason helping destroy a Death Star didn't inspire the same level of enthusiasm for him as it did others. 

Especially when those others whispered that Wedge Antilles was a coward as soon as his back was turned. After all, the ceremony awarding the real heroes of the battle was to be held in around twenty minutes to half an hour. Most people had already massed by the doors to the chamber where the Princess and other highly important but less prominent rebellion figureheads would award two gold medals. 

Now one thing must be known; Wedge Antilles was not in any way jealous about not having a medal of his own. The mark on his X-Wing was more than enough for him. 

His reasoning for avoiding (he wasn't avoiding it, obviously, as Wedge Antilles was a straightforward thinking, mature adult) the ceremony was simply because he was embarrassed.  
How could he stand in front of Luke again after pulling out of that trench, leaving the kid to complete the mission all on his own?  
Logically, Wedge knew there was nothing he could have done, that escaping with his life was the best possible scenario. But there was something about Luke, something pure, that made him want to believe that anything could have been possible. Perhaps the whispers were right about cowardly Red Two, but Wedge's pragmatic side just shrugged and intended to carry on exactly as he had been doing before Luke and the Death Star. 

The same moderately wise person had once told Wedge that the universe hated him and would do everything in its power to make him suffer. Well, they might not have, but Wedge believed it as sure as anything when he turned a corner and was knocked to the floor by none other than Luke Skywalker. 

"Wedge! I'm so sorry," the boy flushed, grabbing Wedge by the arms and helping him to his feet. 

"What's got you in such a hurry?" Red Two brushed his trousers off, dismissing Luke's apology in an attempt at drawing the attention away from his ungraceful and incredibly embarrassing fall onto his arse. He was already wary about talking with Luke, just in case he'd heard all those nasty things said about his self preservation in Yavin space. 

"Well, Han and Leia were getting ready for the ceremony and they said I needed to wear something smarter than, well uh, this," he gestured to his outfit of beige poncho and thigh high sandy boots. He looked like a kid from Tatooine. 

"Don't see why," he had been going for casual, but apparently Luke blushed at anything. Wedge fought down that part of him that was ashamed and unable to meet Skywalker's eye, determined not to alienate the kid who seemed to have enough cheerful energy to... well, explode a space station. 

"Yeah so I was on my way back to my bunk and I kind of got lost," his tone was shy and phrased the sentence as a question. "Maybe a little lost, yeah,"  
Luke was always smiling, Wedge noticed this pretty early on and he'd be a liar if he said it wasn't wholly endearing. 

"You want me to show you where to go?" 

"Wouldn't mind would you?" Luke grinned, finally stepping out of Wedge's personal space.  
He would mind, very much so, as it meant feeling inadequate and unworthy in Luke's company for an extended period of time, the opposite of the avoidance Wedge had originally planned. However, the pilot never actually intended to be an asshole about it, he had nothing but respect for Luke. In the most cliche way possible, it really wasn't him, it was all Wedge's survivor's guilt and general self esteem low point. 

So Red Two just smiled and strolled along beside Red Five, listening to Skywalker's nervous babbling. A few alliance personnel stopped to clap Luke on the arm or salute him, but Wedge noticed how some gave him strange looks or ignored him all together. 

They'd grow up eventually, Wedge sighed internally. 

Luke had awkwardly asked if Wedge could wait for him, worried about getting lost again. When he emerged from his and Han's bunk, the young blond looked much more presentable. 

"Took your time," he joked, feeling a little more confident in Luke's company. 

"We have like four minutes, we'll get there," 

"If we sprint," Wedge sighed, but there was fondness there. He hadn't known Luke long, just enough time to point to which buttons were for 'go' 'shoot' and 'stop' on an X Wing before the battle; then during and after. He'd very much like to count this short hero of the Rebellion as a friend, but then that dark piece of his brain just muttered about heroes not making friends with cowards, which quickly wiped the growing smile from his features. 

"What's wrong?" Damn, the kid was a force sensitive, wasn't he. Wedge reassured himself that there was nothing special about Luke feeling or noticing a change in his mood - he'd do the same with anyone. "You weren't not going to come to the ceremony, were you?"

They walked briskly, shoulder to shoulder - occasionally they'd bump together as Luke tried to turn the wrong way and Wedge gently pushed him down the right corridor without it even looking like the kid had no idea where he was. Not that there was anyone around, all personnel had been piled into the largest room not full of X Wings. 

"Of course I was going to be there," Wedge lied. 

"And that's why you were headed for hangar four?" 

Caught. 

"Very observant," Wedge sighed. No doubt the kid thought he was jealous or cowardly like the rest. Luke just appeared simultaneously proud of himself and concerned. 

"Why not?" He asked, tentative, mature and gentle, worlds away from the cocky kid who compared bringing down a space station to shooting up womp rats. Wedge just shook his head and tried to shrug his shoulders nonchalantly, but Luke just grabbed his arm and stopped their march. 

"We'll be late,"

"Better late than not at all," the blond frowned. "Cmon Wedge I thought we were friends,"

That was news to Wedge, but the statement filled his chest with relief and a hint of companionable warmth. Skywalker had a big heart, and seemed to want to fill it with as many members of the rebellion family he could, even the cousin who many thought should have died like Biggs and the rest of the squadron, only they'd never actually at it out loud.  
There was no point lying to the kid, none at all. He'd only pester and persist if Antilles tried brushing it off. 

"I should have stayed, in that trench," Wedge shoved his hands into the pockets of his rebellion regulation jacket, the creamy yellow leather looking a bit gross coupled with the orange jumper he'd (for some reason known only by the absent Gods in charge of all life) chosen to wear with it. 

"No, Wedge, Force no," Luke altered his grip so he was clinging on to his forearms. "You would have died," 

Wedge couldn't meet the bright blue eyes searching his face. He also couldn't ruin Luke's big moment by voicing the thought pushing to the forefront of his mind. 

Maybe I should have. 

"You have two minutes before-"  
Luke swore.  
Wedge couldn't help but smile at the conflict written openly on his face. 

"We'll talk after, okay?" Skywalker tugged on Wedge's arms, pleading almost. 

"Sure, golden boy," the pilot reassured, his desire to ignore and avoid Luke diminished. How could he deny those eyes anything? "But you've really got to get a move on,"

"Where is it?" 

"Just around the corner, don't worry," 

"Is my hair okay?" He suddenly panicked, smoothing down his sandy blond mop, trying to get a look at himself in the shine of a particularly clean door. 

"Of course it is, stop worrying. And smile, you're these people's champion," Wedge once again found that fondness prominent in his voice. "Go on, first door on the left you can't miss it,"

"You not coming?" He frowned. 

"We normal folk have to use the side doors, you know," Wedge offset the slight bitterness which could have been inferred with a warm smile. "I'll be there,"

"Good," Luke grinned, that ball of unrelenting energy flaring up again as he turned to leave. 

"Wait, something's missing - before you go," Wedge had already removed his jacket before his usually very tight verbal filter caught up with the outburst. "Take this,"

"You sure?" Luke stared at the offered item, eyes wide. 

"Clashes horribly with my jumper," Wedge shrugged, and quickly strode to the side door he'd joked about earlier. 

 

The ceremony was as grand as it's heroes deserved, Leia, radiant as ever, presented Han and Luke with golden medallions and they and Chewie bathed in the applause from the rebel troops. Wedge noted that his jacket suited Luke exceptionally well and found himself smiling and cheering with the rest of them. Luke caught his eye and grinned wider.  
That kid was something else. 

Someone passably wise once told him that if someone made you feel as if there were a thousand tiny explosions going off inside you, then they were either terrifying or the piece your soul that was missing and although the rebellion likes to think that Luke strikes terror into the hearts of all imperial forces, he really wasn't all that scary. Perhaps wisdom was overrated, but when Luke was stood there in all his golden glory, wearing Wedge's jacket, maybe that someone was right. 

 

He never got the jacket back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skywalker's thieving nature makes an appearence while Hobbie naps and Tycho sips caf like the classy fellow he is

Wedge stomped through the icy corridors, breath coming out in huffs of cloud as he rubbed his hands together.  
He wasn't fond of Hoth, but it was as safe as they could be in full rebel force - he'd complain of course, but quietly and never in front of command. 

As someone who could have been classed as wise once told him, never make a fuss in front of higher ups you're not prepared to be punished for. He'd rather like to keep his position, and being cold was not even close to worth the risk of losing it. 

 

He passed Leia and gave her a polite smile but she didn't seem to notice him. 

He passed Han and pointed in the direction Leia had stormed off to. 

He passed C3PO in an anxious flurry of golden arm waves and pleas for his humans to wait for him. 

After only a few weeks of freezing alive, Wedge had memorised the layout of Echo Base - totally not just so if Luke asked for directions he'd know and be able to tease Skywalker for his abysmal sense of direction. 

For example, he knew the next left he took would lead to the Rec Room preferred by Rogue Squadron. 

Wes was chatting with Tycho, both cradling steaming mugs of caf, huddled in the corner by the tiny kitchenette. They greeted Antilles but Wes directed Wedge's attention to a lump sprawled over the only sofa. 

"Hasn't moved in ages," Janson snorted into his mug. 

"Dak tried balancing shit on his face before he had to go out on shift," Tycho rolled his eyes.

Wes grinned wider. 

Wedge smiled and pushed Hobbie's legs out of the way to sit down, knowing he'd sleep through it. He chuckled when Tycho offered him a blanket of his own, but pulled a data pad out with the intent of keeping up with the paperwork he'd been issued. 

Before Wedge could properly settle after a trying day sweeping perimeters to write about said exploits, the door slid open and a very flustered Luke Skywalker barrelled in and started rifling through the bits and pieces on the tables. 

"Has anyone seen my ID badge? The Deck Officer knows damn well I'm authorised but wants proof," he was frowning hard, clearly distressed but Wedge could do nothing but stare. Wes raised both eyebrows at the Corellian's full on openmouthed gaping, but after enduring a few seconds of Tycho's nudging answered Luke's question. 

"Sorry, sir, not seen it,"

"Damn, comm me if you do," Luke flashed them a winning smile before heading out with as much chaos as he'd come in with. 

Wedge was glad he'd effectively hidden himself behind the data pad because damn it he was as red as the insignia on his X Wing, still staring at the door. 

Tycho and Wes were having a standoff of nudges, glares, gestures and eyebrow choreography which ended with the blond pilot sipping his caf and Wes scowling at him as he crouched next to Wedge. 

"Uh, boss?"

"Hm?" Wedge didn't look away from the door. 

"Mind telling us what in the galaxy that was?" 

Wedge, in his stunned, senseless state, told him. 

"Oh brother," Wes ran his hands over his face, slapped his thigh and stood up. He walked back over to Tycho and met the pale raised eyebrows that greeted him with his own nearly meeting his hairline. 

"Problem?" Tycho asked cheekily. 

"He's so far gone," 

"What'd he say?"

"Did you see what Luke was wearing?" They were both whispering, but if Wedge could hear them, he didn't care. His brain was like a fried circuit. 

"Snowsuit, boots, hat, goggles, so?" 

"Wedge's snowsuit, Tycho, Wedge's," He clarified when the blond just looked confused, "you know, snowsuit belonging to Wedge?" 

"Oh..." Tycho smirked at Wedge and watched as he slid down into the sofa. "Yeah he's done for,"

Wedge made an indistinguishable sound from the sofa. Hobbie slept on through. 

 

Wedge never did get that snowsuit back, but after Luke nearly died in it, he didn't think it was appropriate to ask for it back. 

Someone partially wise would probably agree with him on that.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As if Janson isn't going to tell absolutely everyone about this. Everyone.

Someone who may have once been told they were wise by a drunken punter at at bar, said to Wedge that if he believed in something hard enough it'll come true. 

Wedge Antilles was believing with all his worldly power that Luke Skywalker was actually stealing from him at that point. 

 

After the Jedi's disappearing act in the snow a few days ago, he'd just popped back into everyone's lives as if nothing happened. 

He and Wedge had become great friends since they both shared their deepest, darkest feelings about Yavin and often flew together like they could anticipate the other's next move effortlessly, so Wedge had obviously tried being angry or at least a little bit cross about the whole ordeal, but there was not a soul on Hoth who could stay mad at Luke. 

"Hey Wedge," he bounced over to where Janson was up to his knees in springs and cogs and wires which had popped from his gunner's cockpit. 

Their T-47 snowspeeder was looking incredibly sorry for itself and there was plenty of work to be done. 

"Hello Luke," Wedge smiled easily but suddenly blushed and cursed his decision to spite Hobbie's sarcastic answer to Wedge's whining about the cold by actually following the advice he was given. 

Hobbie had snorted that Wedge should just put his engineering overalls over his thick coats, so that's what he did.  
He looked ridiculous, but as did Janson, so perhaps Luke wouldn't notice. 

"Wow what happened here?"

"Janson didn't like the seat adjustments," Wedge sighed, before turning away from the swearing mess that was his designated gunner. 

"Good luck, Wes," Luke shouted to him. "I'm just off for a perimeter check,"

"You sure that's a good idea?"

"I promised Leia I wouldn't investigate anymore meteors," the blond was smiling innocently at his helmet which he'd curled his arms around. 

"You'll have to promise me and all, else I'll steal your ID again," Wedge smirked, but lost a little too much composure when a look of utter betrayal crossed Luke's face. 

"You took it?" 

"Of course I didn't," Antilles laughed, unaware that Wes would be telling the rest of the Rogues absolutely everything. "But I would,"

"Deck Officer let me out anyways," there was the rebellious boy from Tatooine, rising back in all his bratty glory. 

"He shouldn't have," Wedge narrowed his eyes in a way which nearly had Luke begging him not to have the offending officer demoted through a barrage of anonymous complaints. Of course he'd never actually do that which is why Luke wasn't whining at him, but he'd threatened to. "See where it got you last time,"

"Well, I'll be careful," Luke was smiling in a way that always helped remind Wedge that Tatooine has two suns. It was as if all that solar warmth and energy was flooding from Luke's genuine affections and mannerisms, but that was dangerous territory for Wedge's overeager thoughts, he reminded himself. 

No use ruining a golden friendship. 

"Take Dak with you?"

"Of course!" Sunny smile, honey laugh. Wedge mentally slapped himself, he wasn't a teenager anymore, dammit. "See you later," 

It wasn't until Luke had turned to leave that Wedge noticed something. 

"Wait,"

"Yeah?"

"Is that.... Skywalker is that my kriffing flight-suit?" Wedge's voice was higher than usual, no doubt Janson would be curious, but damn all audiences, this was a moment Wedge would either treasure for ever or burn along with the rest of his shameful reactions to Skywalker in general. 

"Uhh, maybe," Luke's face was bright red, which offset the bashful look plastered all over it. "Might have dressed in the dark,"

Wedge didn't believe that for a second, but his brain had once again gone into over analysis mode, where real thoughts and intelligent answers were replaced with 'oh my oh my oh my he looks so fine'. 

"Sorry," Luke was staring at his shuffling feet. 

Right, standing there staring in silence wasn't socially normal, apparently. 

"Nah don't worry, Dak'll probably be waiting, go - I'll let you off if you wash it," Wedge managed an easy smile and a wave after Luke grinned, patted his helmet and hurried off to his T-47. 

He took a moment to steady himself before turning back to Wes, who was smirking, the bastard. 

"Not a word,"

"But-"

"Not. A. Word."

"Sure thing, boss," Janson winked at him but they managed to avoid the subject the whole time they worked on fixing their craft. 

Luke Skywalker, in his flight-suit, marked with his call sign insignia, with his name penned into the neck, making it look positively scandalously good?

 

If anyone had ever told Wedge Antilles that a sight like that would kill him, he'd agree so hard it'd be obscene. 

But perhaps someone vaguely wise had said just that...


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One could say.... things develop at exactly the wrong time

Wedge Antilles often recalled the musings of an individual who just scraped the margin of being deemed wise, and the time when Leia Organa herself addressed the squadrons of brave pilots dressed in orange before they faced Imperial AT-ATs reminded him of when someone once told the Corellian boy to keep his eyes on target, ears on instruction and heart set on the cause. 

But then he noticed Luke Skywalker standing next to his gunner, baby blue eyes sharply fixed on the General. 

Wedge Antilles was an adult, and he often harshly reminded himself that adults did not get distracted by pretty boys and zone out of the integral instructions he was being given by a princess. 

It wasn't until Luke smiled reassuringly at Leia before turning to jog to his T-47 that Wedge even realised he'd been staring. 

Blushing furiously and shaking his head, he promised himself he would never stoop so low again as he asked Janson, "were you listening?" 

A slow grin spread across Wes's face, "of course I was, boss. Let me just remember, hm yes. Hobbie?" 

The other pilot turned to frown at them. 

"Wedge wasn't listening and obviously neither was I, so-"

Hobbie sighed, relayed their instructions and after a graceful pivot, stalked over to his T-47. Tycho was barely holding in peels of laughter which escaped the moment Wes and Wedge turned away. 

"You know boss-"

"Not another word," Wedge was just about ready to crawl into a hole and die there, but there was work to be done. 

"If this thing is going to affect your work-"

"Shut up, Janson," Wedge sank into the pilot's cockpit, glaring as Wes carried on smiling mischievously. He gave a mock salute and hopped into the gunner position, flicking his helmet vision down. 

They were just about ready for launch when Wedge realised something was horribly out of place. 

His helmet - it wasn't on his head. He'd left it on a crate during the briefing. 

He swore, muttered something about being at war and having no time for kriffing irresponsibility like that and leapt from the pilot's chair. 

Wedge raced across the hangar and found a helmet exactly where he'd left his, only it was red and white, not green. 

Someone possibly wise once told him to follow his instincts, which had let him down before, but not then. 

Tapping on Luke's T-47 window, interrupting whatever Dak had been chattering on about, Wedge saw his missing helmet, firmly situated on Skywalker's head. 

"Wedg-"

"Oh no you don't," Wedge fought back the urge to smile like a soppy idiot because after all, he really needed his helmet back. "Give that back,"

"Reckon it suits me," Luke looked back toward his controls, speaking conversationally as if his actions were not strictly against protocol and driving Wedge absolutely crazy, the cheeky bastard. 

"This one suits you better," Wedge thrust the red version of what Luke still hadn't removed from his head into the cockpit. 

"So you think it does suit me?" 

"Luke," Wedge Antilles did not whine, but if they all survived this escapade, he was sure Wes would be adamant that he did. 

Skywalker sighed and returned Wedge's helmet, but before they could leave and actually get back to work, saving the galaxy and all, the young blond Jedi-pilot pulled Wedge by the harness and kissed him. 

Wedge felt as if he was about to collapse, eyes wide, arms nearly flying out by his sides. 

But just as spontaneously as the moment of surprise intimacy had started, it was over. 

"See you up there, Red Two," Luke grinned and sealed the cockpit, ready for take off, as if he hadn't just ruined and improved Wedge's entire life. 

"Wedge! Let's go!" Janson was shouting, which called Wedge's reeling mind to the matter at hand. Right. Imperial walkers. 

He sprinted to his T-47, shoved his green helmet on and strapped in. 

"The heck's the matter with you?" Wes actually sounded serious, for a second, a little worried. 

"He kissed me,"

"Oh sithspit. Cmon, Red Two, we got a battle to win, you think you can function properly?" 

"Honestly? I think I could take down an Death Star," Wedge fired up the snowspeeder. 

"That's the spirit!"


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaand that's it :) Thank You for reading, I very much hope you enjoyed this little piece

Someone who, in hindsight, probably wasn't the wisest, once told Wedge, a curious young lad with a mop of raven hair and a skeptical frown, that he should grasp onto moments of bliss and never let them go. Because, apparently, there will always be someone or something trying to take it away. 

Like all advice, life lessons and ambiguous bitterness this almost wise individual passed onto Wedge every time he wandered past on his way back home from wherever he'd been, he took this with a pinch of salt - however after numerous brushes with death, the rise of the empire, meeting and falling hopelessly in love with the last Jedi, Wedge Antilles found himself mentally curling round every golden memory he had, desperately trying to keep them untarnished by guilt or the empire. 

It had been years since Endor, and Yavin felt a lifetime away, but like most rebellion fighters, Wedge was constantly carrying all those souls who didn't live to see the formation of the New Republic, who died doing their duty. 

He and Luke shared this guilt and the driving need to build a better world, which is probably why they always knew when the other was spiralling too close to a low they both felt keenly. 

After Luke had settled as a new mentor to the next generation of Force Sensitive children, he declared the 'No Attachments' rule the cause of more harm than good and promptly proposed to an incredibly startled Antilles, who'd made his peace with his all encompassing crush on Luke and had fully expected a life of admiring from afar. 

They loved each other and looked after each other in a way neither of them believed anyone else could, colouring more and more memories that burning gold Wedge never wanted to look away from. 

Of course, they both had their duties, sometimes meaning they'd see very little of each other, but Wedge always made sure that unless something absolutely unavoidable or essential required one or both of their attentions, evenings were theirs. 

As a high ranking officer, Wedge didn't have to constantly be ready to leap into his X Wing and fly to what held the potential of spelling certain death for him and his team, so he did what any self respecting man would. 

He invested in a wide range of criminally comfortable pyjamas. 

The Antilles-Skywalker apartment space, situated perfectly between the Jedi Temple and Republic Naval Command, contained one meticulously organised, colourful wardrobe filled with clothes for comfort and one very haphazard, dull wardrobe stacked full of Jedi robes. Wedge had a pyjama set, all neatly matching two-pieces of course, of nearly every colour - it was sort of a light hearted guilty pleasure he kept, an entirely different guilt from the kind that weighed him down every moment he gave it a place in his thoughts. 

Wedge deemed the collection totally justified, especially after years of sleeping in standard issue vests and shirts that a flight suit could be hastily thrown over, ready for action. 

Days often drew to a blissful end with Wedge fondly chiding Luke after returning to their shared quarters, finding the master Jedi smugly reading by the lamplight, dressed only in a loose, soft shirt that didn't belong to him. 

Luke's favourite were the horrifically orange set Leia had bought Wedge after the Jedi had spilled his husband's domestic custom; apparently the colour reminded him of those classic flight-suits. 

He would never tire of Luke's strange habit of wearing clothes that actually belonged to Wedge, even if it was a little embarrassing when one of the new padawans pointed out that Master Skywalker had been wearing a jacket with 'Cmmdr. Antilles' printed down the sleeve, which definitely was not the traditional Jedi robe look he normally tried his best to recreate. 

Someone wise (yes, he thought, they deserve that title) once told Wedge to love deep, love free, love pure and that's what he'd receive in return. 

Wedge often smiles to himself - they were damn right.


End file.
